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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397699">Another Paradise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchpointe/pseuds/witchpointe'>witchpointe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>VIXX</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, and by themes i mean sacrilege, by religious i mean christian, heavy religious themes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:21:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchpointe/pseuds/witchpointe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you still believe it?" Hongbin's pupils are deep, dilated in the steep red light from the exit sign. He presses his cock against Hakyeon's, collects them both in his left hand. Hakyeon can feel their wetness mingle. "Do you still believe that Eve ruined Paradise, and the pleasure you might milk from men damns your eternal soul?"</p><p>Hakyeon closes his eyes against Hongbin's beauty, against the lust in his baritone, turning his head against the door and shivering down to his toes. Hongbin strokes them together, teasing, lazy and harsh in turns, making a mess of them both. </p><p>"Or did Eve choose freedom? Freedom of thought, freedom of choice, freedom of—" </p><p>Hongbin licks between Hakyeon's parted lips. His heat sears through any reasoning Hakyeon had left. </p><p>"Pleasure."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cha Hakyeon | N/Lee Hongbin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Intoxicating - Valentine's round</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Another Paradise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the song prompt for this fic is taemin's <i>want</i>.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>i’ll wake the silence under your deep sea<br/>you’ll want it more, you’ll burn up more<br/>i'm your eyes, I’ll make you open new eyes<br/>trust your self-control, move your body and soul<br/>ppen your eyes, listen to your sound<br/>what do you want? i’ll show you something you never knew</i></p><p> </p><p>this song, the vibe and aesthetic, they're beyond sexy so i hope i do it justice and the prompter enjoys it especially! i went back and forth for days on who should be the forbidden fruit, and honestly it could have gone either way. i like to think of these lyrics not as outright seducing, but awakening someone into realizing what they've always wanted, so i hope you enjoy my interpretation.</p><p>however, there were many things that inspired the atmosphere and route this fic eventually took:</p><p>john milton's <a href="https://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/pl/book_1/text.shtml">paradise lost</a>, from which i cherry picked symbolism and poetry.</p><p>gain's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4i32ANEa5mk">paradise lost</a>, which lyrically and symbolically asserts that eve is not a sinner, from which i took the theme and the title.</p><p>andrew huang's short film, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmCw-e72zs8">kiss of the rabbit god</a>, was the biggest influence. it's a very pretty and touching film of tu'er shen appearing to a gay man to help him accept his sexuality. please watch it if you haven’t!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hakyeon stares at the collection of cast iron crosses on the far wall, behind the mismatched arrangement of customer tables and chairs, their rustic design filigreed and looped and mocking, like the Spanish Inquisition's dining room.</p><p> </p><p><em> Trust in the Lord with all your heart, </em> the passage reads below them, <em> and lean not on your own understanding. </em></p><p> </p><p>He sighs, tapping idle fingers against the milk frothing pitcher.</p><p> </p><p>Working in his parents café is boring and hectic in turns, and many days, ironically, both at the same time. A small business clinging to its roots amidst the choking grip of capitalism, the café has been around since before the war, and largely survives by word-of-mouth and loyal customers that swear by its authenticity and proletariat charm.</p><p> </p><p>He makes lattes by muscle memory alone, listening to the inane chatter of customers, nodding in the right places, smiling when necessary, thanking and blessing people not because he means it, but because it's expected, it's polite, it's what a good Christian boy ought to do.</p><p> </p><p>His parents don't speak English well enough to man the front; they can understand much of anything, but to communicate back and be understood themselves is a different story. Hakyeon isn't sure if it's a blessing or a curse.</p><p> </p><p>This evening, however, Hakyeon's mind has something more concrete to focus on. There is a new customer, a tall man, thin by his standards but regal, an affected air about him that both intimidates Hakyeon and draws him in. He orders a cappuccino in a low voice like molten gold, and though the place is nearly empty, Hakyeon asks the name for the order desperate to hear it again. </p><p> </p><p>Hongbin watches Hakyeon's hands as he prepares the drink, pours the milk foam in a practiced flourish. Their fingers touch when Hakyeon offers the porcelain cup across the counter, and Hongbin gives him a smile that is closer to God than anything Hakyeon's parents ever taught him.</p><p> </p><p>Loathing; curiosity; dread; attraction; emotions beat against his ribs like sails in a storm, yet Hakyeon can barely look away from Hongbin. He's sipping the cappuccino, nursing it like one might a whiskey, while reading an old copy of <em> Faust </em> with quiet contentment. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Grant me one hour on love’s most sacred shores </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To clasp the bosom that my soul adores, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lie heart to heart and merge my soul with yours. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The passage bites Hakyeon with sudden and intense clarity, a memory from high school lanced with forbidden yearning and stolen kisses, drowned out by the cheerless touch of women and the ever-present threat of eternal damnation.</p><p> </p><p>To Hakyeon's regret and pleasure Hongbin lingers, well past the time of supper and into the quiet hours of the evening, the time that Hakyeon usually spends reading himself. Tonight, he's too distracted to comprehend much at all, re-reading the same page multiple times before he gives up and tosses the simple fantasy-adventure novel aside.</p><p> </p><p>Midnight approaches at last, and Hakyeon has the distinct pleasure and misfortune of having to tell Hongbin to leave. The hours are clearly written on the clear glass door as well as a laminated paper atop the ordering counter, but Hakyeon has noticed that Hongbin is scarcely, if at all, aware of his surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon doesn't remember <em> Faust </em> being that good.</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing the broom and dustpan, Hakyeon abandons the counter and stands next to Hongbin's table, an annoyed hand on his hip.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, sir," Hakyeon says. "It's time for me to close. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."</p><p> </p><p>Pretty brown eyes blink up from the book. "Hongbin."</p><p> </p><p>"What?"</p><p> </p><p>A devious smile, much less attractive than the one he was graced with before. "My name is Hongbin. You needn't call me sir."</p><p> </p><p><em> Needn't. </em>Who says that?</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, Hongbin. It's time for me to close."</p><p> </p><p>"What's your name?" Hongbin's eyes roam over Hakyeon's chest. "You aren't wearing a nametag."</p><p> </p><p>"Hakyeon."</p><p> </p><p>"Hak-yeon." Hongbin repeats the name in perfect Korean, soft consonants so different from English, flowing from his lips like the first taste of the finest espresso. Hongbin smiles again, seemingly to himself.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon frowns.</p><p> </p><p>"I knew this place was Korean." Hongbin inclines his head back toward the espresso machine. "The psalm, behind the counter."</p><p> </p><p>Ah, yes. Psalm 20:4, his mother's favorite, printed out on their deskjet and taped to the wall.</p><p> </p><p>네 마음의 소원대로 허락하시고 네 모든 도모를 이루시기를 원하노라.</p><p>
  <em> May He give you what your heart desires and make all your dreams come true. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What does your heart desire, Hakyeon?"</p><p> </p><p>A shock runs through Hakyeon's body, as if he were balancing on a tightrope and made the mistake of looking far, far to the ground. Hongbin himself may not be corrupt, but his presence sparks a wickedness in Hakyeon, a temptation too shameful to bear.</p><p> </p><p>When Hakyeon doesn't answer, Hongbin tries again.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you have any tea?"</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon straightens his dark brown apron over his torso, a comforting gesture used now as if it could shield him from a beautiful man's welcoming smile.</p><p> </p><p>"I think you should leave."</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin nods, and it appears that he doesn't feel slighted. Small blessings.</p><p> </p><p>"Another time, then," Hongbin says, pushing the chair neatly back under the table, patting it once before bowing his head in farewell and leaving Hakyeon alone to contemplate his sins.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Unfortunately, Hongbin visits again the very next night, ordering the very same espresso that he hardly drinks, sitting at the very same table and ignoring Hakyeon like he doesn't know it's 15 minutes before closing.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon silently fumes, behind his polite and friendly exterior.</p><p> </p><p>He approaches the table at midnight again, with half a mind to tell Hongbin to fuck off after the impish look he gives him. Instead Hakyeon leans his weight onto the broom and gives him a tired look.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin looks, instead, at the crosses. "Are you religious?" he asks, a somber contrast to his expression only seconds before.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon rolls his eyes. "What gave it away?"</p><p> </p><p>"I know the place is religious," Hongbin says, folding his hands neatly onto the table. They're surprisingly compact, but look strong. Hakyeon would maybe like to hold one. "Are <em> you </em> religious?"</p><p> </p><p>Of course Hakyeon is religious. His parents are devout. His friends are varying degrees of dedicated, but they all follow Christ. That's just the way things are. What else is there to believe?</p><p> </p><p>"Yes." The less he says, the better.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin hums, a sound that is a lot more respectful than Hakyeon is expecting. "I think that God is a lot more grey than people think."</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon blinks, and he thinks his face shows much more open surprise than he'd like, but Hongbin is still looking at the crosses. "What do you mean?"</p><p> </p><p>Gesturing to the single chair across from him, Hongbin says, "Sit down."</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon shouldn't. But he does. He wants to know about the grey area of God, he wants to know why Hongbin is looking at the simple cross decorations with such sadness, why he's in a café at midnight, talking theology with a stranger.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you think," Hongbin asks, "that sin is as black and white as the children of God make it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Are you asking me if man misconstrues the word of God?"</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin smiles brilliantly again, and something inside Hakyeon snaps, like a flimsy branch in a hurricane wind. "You're clever. But that isn't an answer."</p><p> </p><p>"I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question." Hakyeon adjusts his fringe in a nervous way that's meant to somehow deflect Hongbin's intensity.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin scoffs. "Then who is?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't know." Hakyeon twirls his thumbs around each other. He feels out of his depth. "The Pope?"</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin laughs. "You're not Catholic."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not."</p><p> </p><p>"Why should your relationship with God have to be through another man?"</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon stares past Hongbin into the blackness of the night beyond the glass door. The café had, until now, always been a safe haven of repetition and mechanical thinking. He's tired; he doesn't want to debate things bigger than himself.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin clears his throat.</p><p> </p><p>"If what is evil </p><p>Be real, why not known, since easier shunn’d? </p><p>God, therefore cannot hurt ye and be just."</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon finishes the quote on instinct, feeling vulgar and eager all at once.</p><p> </p><p>"No just, not God; not fear’d then, nor obey’d: </p><p>Your fear itself of death removes the fear."</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon adds, much quieter, "Is that what you believe?"</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin breathes in heavily and breathes out, not a sigh of frustration, but that is perhaps discouraged.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you ask because you want to know my mind, or because you want to be told how to think?"</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon is silent, which is enough of an answer, he supposes.</p><p> </p><p>"I don't think," Hongbin continues, "that a God worth following would create the pleasure of another man's embrace, a temptation so inescapable, only to punish us for it."</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon's stomach bursts and falls to his feet. He shields his shaking hands below the table.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah, but I've shaken you. Forgive me, it was not my intention." Hongbin adopts a lighter tone. "Perhaps now might be a better time for that cup of tea."</p><p> </p><p>Moving mechanically, Hakyeon foregoes the counter to retrieve a real tea set from the back room, something that feels more proper for such conversation. He prepares the tea, oolong though Hongbin hadn't specified, and brings the pot and two cups back to the front on a serving tray, only to find that Hongbin has left.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon sits alone at the table, sipping at the sweet, familiar taste of the tea, with the phrase <em> another man's embrace </em> echoing through his mind in Hongbin's delicious voice.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The next day Hakyeon drags himself through menial customer service, every moment considering the intentions of God, as well as the intentions of Hongbin. He waits for Hongbin, only half-admitting the fact to himself, and feels a crushing disappointment when midnight finally approaches with no sign of him. He cleans and closes slowly without locking the door and flipping the closed sign, giving Hongbin time to appear. He doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon shakes his head and berates himself for hoping, for waiting, and most of all for craving the presence of another man in a wholly improper way.</p><p> </p><p>In his dreams, Hakyeon traverses a shallow body of water, lost in its misty depths. A whooping crane, stark white body and blood red face, leads Hakyeon deeper and deeper until he is fully submerged, drowning in the thick, blue waters.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>There is no sign of Hongbin for the second night in a row, and Hakyeon convinces himself it's for the better.</p><p> </p><p>He closes faster this time, feeling the therapy in the cleaning and darkening of the place. He's putting it to rest, he thinks, this ridiculous notion of God as a thing with many interpretations, with empathy for his deviance.</p><p> </p><p>He puts the day's cash in the safe, leaves the register report on his mother's desk. He's reaching for his coat, near the back exit door, when he <em> feels </em> the presence behind him, knowing without a doubt that it's there as concrete as the coat rack before him.</p><p> </p><p>Turning around, Hakyeon is unsurprised to find Hongbin, but no less scared.</p><p> </p><p>"How did you get in here?" Hakyeon asks.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin rests his hands on Hakyeon's stomach, and it's gentle; however, before Hakyeon can respond, Hongbin pushes him into the door, pushes his body against him in a way that leaves Hakyeon thoughtless and breathless. They're the same height, Hakyeon realizes, a moment of looking straight into his eyes before they're kissing, Hongbin insistent and Hakyeon helpless, gripping the back of Hongbin's shirt where it's tucked into his pants.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin pulls back, and Hakyeon thinks his lips have been seared for good. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you want me to leave?"</p><p> </p><p>And that's a stupid question, a trap, and Hakyeon is altogether tired of thinking, of being hyper-vigilant in the face of desire. He pulls Hongbin back into him, has a split-second to think again about <em> another man's embrace </em>, before Hongbin grabs his ass to thrust against him.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon's eyes roll back, he gasps against Hongbin sucking at his tongue, and nothing in Heaven or Hell is as important as the throbbing of his cock.</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself begging, and he doesn't know what he's asking for; perhaps God's forgiveness, perhaps for more, perhaps simply for Hongbin not to stop. </p><p> </p><p>Just as Hakyeon's senses begin to falter, as his sight goes red at the edges and he feels the doubt slither in, Hongbin says against his neck, "Trust yourself. Your body doesn't know how to lie, only your mind does."</p><p> </p><p>"That can't—" Hakyeon moans, feeling Hongbin's teeth sawing at the sensitive skin underneath his jaw, "That can't be true."</p><p> </p><p>He feels as if he's grasping at the threads of his sanity as they fray, as they slip through his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>"The mind is its own place," Hongbin quotes, kissing down the long line of Hakyeon's neck and pulling open the flimsy buttons of his cheap shirt, not made to sustain in the hands of a man's hunger. Hongbin's firm, steady hands, that slither down his bared chest and curl into his skin. "And in itself can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n."</p><p> </p><p>As he tugs Hongbin's shirt clumsily, fingers slipping on the oversized blue silk, he considers the meaning with a strangely clear mind, even as his fingertips tingle and his head feels like a water drop sizzling on a heated surface. He's hot, yes, unbearably warm, and the heat doesn't come from the air or from Hongbin, but from his need; Hongbin fans the flames with his mouth, his hands, but the heat is all Hakyeon, borne from repression and horror, a combustion of liberty that Hakyeon feels inside and out.</p><p> </p><p>Freed from the prison of self-restraint, he feels locked into softer binds that move his hands of their own accord, unclasping Hongbin's belt and coaxing his cock out with an ease and confidence that is surely not his own. He squeezes, hears Hongbin moan softly, touches him gently as he grows to his full length. Hongbin returns the favor with more fluid grace, and takes over where Hakyeon falters, swiping his thumb over Hakyeon's wetness and smearing it down his cock.</p><p> </p><p>"I can't—" Hakyeon pants, a last grasp at his religious ideals that is more a forced formality than anything he truly believes. "I don't—"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you still believe it?" Hongbin's pupils are deep, dilated in the steep red light from the exit sign. He presses his cock against Hakyeon's, collects them both in his left hand. Hakyeon can feel their wetness mingle. "Do you still believe that Eve ruined Paradise, and the pleasure you might milk from men damns your eternal soul?"</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon closes his eyes against Hongbin's beauty, against the lust in his baritone, turning his head against the door and shivering down to his toes. Hongbin strokes them together, teasing, lazy and harsh in turns, making a mess of them both. </p><p> </p><p>"Or did Eve choose freedom? Freedom of thought, freedom of choice, freedom of—" </p><p> </p><p>Hongbin licks between Hakyeon's parted lips. His heat sears through any reasoning Hakyeon had left. </p><p> </p><p>"Pleasure."</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin leans his forehead against the door, panting into Hakyeon's ear, soothing and exciting him in tandem. His fingernails dig into the silk of Hongbin's shirt as he clenches his biceps, hands shaking with the tension. He uses the leverage to buck into Hongbin's hand quicker, watching them together, hypnotized by the juxtaposition of their skin colors. </p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon is so close, so shamefully close and wet and loud, and every nerve in his body is alive and screaming for the fall. All he can feel is heat, heat and Hongbin's hand, too small to completely circle them both. Hakyeon grasps his hand over Hongbin's, forces his grip to tighten.</p><p> </p><p>He's taking the Lord's name in vain, he realizes, chanting <em> God </em> in an obscene display of desperation, interrupted by curses and groans he never imagined himself capable of making.</p><p> </p><p>Hongbin leans closer, his lips grazing the delicate folds of Hakyeon's ear as he whispers. </p><p> </p><p>"Can you imagine a Paradise better than this? Can you imagine a just God turning you away for something this perfect?"</p><p> </p><p>It's the most sinful thing of all that this is what tips Hakyeon over the edge. His consciousness bursts, his veins contract, he floats weakly along the tide of his orgasm, in a state between states of consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks he hears Hongbin's voice, both far away and inside of his head, both as if he's being spoken to and as if he's remembering a quoted word, not unlike his memories of the Psalms.</p><p> </p><p>"Your fears are unfounded,</p><p>and God is not as wrathful as you think;</p><p>Man has twisted God into oppression</p><p>to control, to hate, to seize;</p><p>Upon the day of judgment,</p><p>never will you be punished for the purest deed -</p><p>love, shining bright, </p><p>for whomever you might choose to share it with."</p><p> </p><p>When reality reforms, Hakyeon is slumped against the door, alone with his slowly panting breaths and the mundane hum of the mini fridge. His pants are open and his cock is out, a complete mess of himself. He cleans up hastily, more from practicality than shame, and searches every corner for where Hongbin may have gone.</p><p> </p><p>But just as quickly as he was approached, he is again, alone.</p><p> </p><p>And even though he's a shaky, sweaty mess, he can't seem to feel regret. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Hakyeon knows he won't see Hongbin again.</p><p> </p><p>Hakyeon isn't sure Hongbin ever existed, if he's honest. Still, he looks up when the jingle of the bell door announces a customer, hoping against common sense that Hongbin will be there. That they can—talk. That Hakyeon will be able to thank him for this gift he's been given.</p><p> </p><p>It is only a week later that Hakyeon looks up at an entering customer and sees a man much less celestial but no less striking than his—imaginary?—seducer. </p><p> </p><p>His teeth are cute, round, and when he orders his smile is bright and warm, like summer sunshine on a patch of the greenest grass. Hakyeon's heart skips a beat, and this time, there is no shame to eclipse it. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading, comments and kudos are appreciated. ♡ </p><p>please check out the other fics in this fest as well!</p><p>come talk to me about chabin on <a href="http://twitter.com/vampiresanghyuk">twitter</a> or <a href="http://curiouscat.me/vampiresanghyuk">curiouscat</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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